


The Recital

by callboxkat



Category: Cartoon Therapy, Cartoon Therapy (Web Series), Sanders Sides, Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Concerts, Emile plays the ukulele, I didn't really specify which, M/M, Roman plays the euphonium, recital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 11:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18940303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callboxkat/pseuds/callboxkat
Summary: Emile’s very nervous about his ukulele performance, and he’s just hoping his boyfriend is going to show up to support him. I finally wrote something with Remile!





	The Recital

Emile’s eyes scanned over the crowd nervously, searching. The room was about half full by now of parents, teachers, students, and whoever else decided to attend, all of them shuffling around and talking as they settled in, waiting for the performance to start. Emile found the faces of many people he knew in the crowd, but he was looking for one person in particular. He swore he had scanned the entire room three times already, but found no sign of him.

Where was he?

Emile’s fingers skimmed over his ukulele, not making any noise, just taking comfort in the feeling of the strings against his fingertips.

“Ten minutes to showtime, Em,” a voice said. “We should go wait in the back with everyone else.”

Emile turned to where his friend Roman stood with his euphonium (he got very offended if you called it a baritone), dressed in a striking red and white suit. A golden earring gleamed on his earlobe, matching both his cufflinks and his instrument.

Emile smiled tightly. “You go ahead, I’ll be there in a sec.”

Roman’s cheerful expression turned sympathetic. “Still no Remy?”

“No… not yet.”

“He’ll show. He probably just stopped for some coffee or slept in or something.”

The corner of Emile’s mouth quirked up. “Yeah, probably.”

“Come wait in the back with me? You’re up first, after all; you don’t want to walk in late.”

Emile knew he was right, so he nodded. The two of them walked out of the concert hall together, Roman pausing to wave at a friend of his who had been bouncing up and down in the back, trying to get his attention. Emile smiled at the sight.

Outside, Emile couldn’t help but pace back and forth, his dress shoes making faint tapping sounds on the tile. He absently fingered along to his song on the ukulele, a last minute practice. Part of him was regretting deciding to do this from memory. What if he got up there and completely forgot the song? What if he tripped and dropped his ukulele? He could be left up there just staring at everyone with a broken instrument, like a complete dummy.

 _Now you’re thinking like Virgil_ , he scolded himself. Nothing against Virgil, of course, but he could be a bit of a worrywart. _Everything is fine._

As the start time of the concert neared, Emile’s nerves only worsened. But soon enough, the time had arrived. One of the school’s directors said a few welcoming words into the microphone, most of which Emile didn’t quite hear. She stepped off stage, and Emile straightened his back, readying himself as much as he could. The concert attendees pulled the doors open, and Emile stepped through.

He walked between the two columns of seats, treading carefully on the wooden floor, carrying his ukulele like something precious. He stepped up on stage and turned to face the audience, which was clapping politely. A cheer went up here and there. Emile’s eyes quickly scanned the crowd once more, but he still didn’t see the face he was looking for.

Emile took hold of the microphone and lowered it to the correct level, smiling nervously at the crowd, who fell silent.

“Do you how do!” he greeted. Realizing what had just come out of his mouth, Emile froze, his eyes widening just slightly. He quickly recovered. “My name is Emile Picani, and today I will be performing a medley of songs from _Avatar: The Last Airbender_ , which I arranged for the ukulele.”

A few scattered applause went up, and Emile stepped back. He strummed a few notes on his instrument and was about to start when, suddenly, one of the doors opened. Completely ignoring the annoyed concert attendant who had clearly been trying to stop him from entering the room, Emile’s boyfriend Remy entered the concert hall. Emile’s shoulders relaxed as Remy smiled up at him. He wasn’t actually carrying a Starbucks drink as far as Emile could tell—although it was completely possible that he simply hadn’t been allowed to bring it inside—and he looked a little disheveled, like he had run here.

Emile let out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding, cleared his throat, and began the song.

It… could have gone better. At least at first. Even with the reassuring knowledge that Remy had made it to his recital, Emile’s hands were shaking with nerves. This, unfortunately, caused him to fumble some of the chords. One particularly obvious mistake caused him to wince; but about halfway through, Emile’s eyes found Remy’s in the crowd. He smiled encouragingly, and Emile decided to pretend he was playing only for him. Suddenly, the song didn’t seem so difficult. Emile found his footing, so to speak, and continued to play. The different tunes transitioned smoothly into each other, the more complicated rhythms coming out almost perfectly. This wasn’t a fairy tale, of course, so Emile still made a couple of slip ups. But he finished strongly, and the crowd burst into applause. Emile bowed, and he stepped gratefully down from the stage, feeling a little lightheaded. He walked out, the applause fading behind him as he passed the next student on their way to the stage.

Emile went to put away his ukulele, brushing off Roman with a small, reassuring smile when he tried to talk to him. He sat in the entryway for the rest of the concert, the ukulele case in his lap. He could hear everything from this spot and mostly see the performers, but the crowd was facing away from him, and there were fewer people out here.

The concert went by quickly. The applause for the different performers varied in volume, of course; but everyone seemed to do great. Emile reflected that his piece probably hadn’t been the best way to start the concert. The concert organizers had wanted to put the two original pieces at the start and end: his and Roman’s, to highlight them.

Roman was up there now, belting out complicated rhythms like they were easy as breathing. He never really reached any dynamic below a mezzo forte—Roman liked to play loud—but he was clearly eager to show everyone his piece, and his talent was unmistakable. After his final, resonant note, there was an uproarious applause, both for Roman himself and the concert as a whole.

The director went back up to close the concert, thank everyone for coming, et cetera, but Emile’s attention was caught by the door opening, or more specifically, by the dark-haired young man slipping out of it. He spotted Emile and immediately made a beeline for him.

“Remy,” Emile sighed in relief.

“’Sup, Em?” his boyfriend said. “Sorry I was late.”

Emile shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. You made it in time. What took you so long, though? Did you oversleep?”

“No, of course not.” Remy’s tone was joking, but he seemed a little bit  genuinely offended. “I… _may_ have gotten a bit lost, though.”

“Oh,” Emile laughed. Then his smile fell slightly. “Well, I hope my solo was worth the trouble. I messed up pretty bad.”

“Girl, what are you talking about? You stole the show! Everyone after you was like, ‘ugh, isn’t this over already? Why’d they put the best one first?’ Like, really, babes. You were _amazing_.”

The corners of Emile’s mouth twitched upwards. “Don’t let Roman hear you say that.”

“You called?” Roman slid over dramatically. He no longer had his euphonium with him, but he was still in his scarlet suit. “Don’t let me hear what?”

“That your baritone was too loud,” Remy snarked, even though that wasn’t actually what he had said.

“It is a _EUPHONIUM!_ ” Roman squawked, putting his hands on his hips. “There is a _difference_ , they don’t even—!”

“But you! You were perfect!” Remy interrupted, turning to address his boyfriend before Roman could lecture him on musical instruments. He laced their fingers together and Roman broke off, steaming.  “I loved your song! And you look so freaking cute in that suit.” He reached up and gently flicked Emile’s pale green tie. His entire outfit was pastel, the colors inspired by the four elements from the show his solo had come from.

“Aww, do you, like, have a crush on me?” Emile asked teasingly.

Remy laughed. “Really, babes? See, gurl,” he said, turning to Roman, ”this is the nonsense I have to deal with.”

Roman, meanwhile, gasped in fake surprise. “Oh my gosh, you totally have a crush on him!” he cried, pointing at Remy, who gave him an unimpressed look over his sunglasses.

“Oooooh!” Roman and Emile said together.

“I hang out with a bunch of dorks,” Remy announced.

“Well, if you choose to hang out with a bunch of dorks, I’m pretty sure that makes you a dork by default,” Roman argued. He looked like he wanted to say more, but his own boyfriend came up then, putting an arm around Roman’s shoulders and whispering something in his ear. The euphonium player smiled and allowed himself to be pulled away. “Ah, farewell! I must away to be with my adoring fans.”

“See ya,” Remy said. Emile waved.

When Roman was gone, Remy shook his head. “That guy is something else.”

“He’s said the same about you.”

Remy gasped in false offense. “Ah! How rude! Gurl, and you didn’t fight him on my behalf? That’s so not romantic.”

Emile shook his head, grinning.

“Seriously, though, you did great. You know that, right?”

Emile shrugged, glancing away.

“You wrote and memorized that whole thing! Almost everybody else up there had sheet music, and an accompaniment. You just had your ukulele. That’s f*cking impressive as _hell_.”

A nearby old man shot them a judging look, like Remy’s language had personally offended him. Remy just arched an eyebrow, a sassy “ _Can I help you?”_ expression on his face; and the man walked off awkwardly.

“Thanks, Rem, but you don’t have to say that to make me feel better. The first half of that song was a bit of a disaster, I have to admit. It was a real magikarp.”

Remy blinked.

“A flop?” Emile explained.

“Girl, don’t even,” Remy said. “It wasn’t nearly as bad as you think. Yeah, you had a couple mess ups. But the whole thing? Especially that ending? If you think that was bad, you’re _whack_.”

Emile sighed. “Okay. I guess it could have been worse.”

“Definitely.”

“Could have been better, too, though,” he continued.

“Well, what’s the line you’re always saying, the one from Steven Universe, about the pork chops—Oh, yeah! If every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hot dogs. I mean, hot dogs are gross, but we can ignore that for now. The point still stands.” He squeezed Emile’s hand, grinning triumphantly at him. He knew Emile couldn’t argue against something he himself said so often.

Remy’s grin was contagious, and he looked so handsome, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes visible past his sunglasses. He rarely acted sincere, which just made caving all the more impossible to resist.

“…Tartar sauce,” Emile mumbled, breaking into a smile. “Okay, fine. It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“Of course it wasn’t!” Remy argued. “That’s what I’ve been _saying._ Now let’s go get some Starbies, you ukulele-playing dork; I need my caffeine.”

“Oh, you’re still calling me a dork?” Emile asked, his smile now firmly planted on his face.

“Yes, ma’am! You make, like, two hundred cartoon references a day. That’s pretty dorky.”

“That number seems low, but point taken. Maybe I am a dork—but I’m _your_ dork.”

“Hell yeah, you are,” Remy agreed, leaning over and kissing him on the lips.


End file.
